The Innocent Behind the Scandal

by Abby Green

  Something cracked apart inside her, breaking into a thousand pieces. She’d thought she’d protected herself so well, but she hadn’t protected herself at all.

  * * *

  It took a few seconds for the red haze to fade enough in Maks’s head for him to realise that Zoe had left. For a stomach-plummeting second he thought he might have actually imagined that she’d come here, that she’d stood in front of him protesting her innocence. Hair down. Those scars visible against her pale skin. Her eyes as big as he remembered. Her mouth as lush. As tempting.

  No.

  He unlocked his arms from his chest and unclenched his jaw. She had been here. He could smell her scent in the air and had to resist the urge to breathe it deep.

  He picked up his glass and drained it in one gulp. He didn’t even wince as it flamed down his throat. He barely felt it. His fingers gripped the heavy crystal so tightly he had to relax them for fear of cracking it.

  His skin still crawled when he thought of the look on his executive assistant’s face that morning when he’d arrived at the Marchetti offices shortly after dawn—and the fact that he hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks was not something he wanted to associate with the women who had just left.

  His assistant hadn’t been able to meet his eyes as he’d cleared his throat and said, ‘Have you seen the papers yet, sir?’

  Maks, feeling irritable, had replied, ‘No. Why?’

  ‘There’s something you should see.’

  His assistant had laid out a sheaf of the main tabloids on his desk and it had taken Maks a moment even to understand what he was looking at. Himself. Naked.

  His first reaction hadn’t even been anger. Or shock. It had been to remember that morning, with the sun coming up on the Grand Canal in Venice, the breeze cooling his overheated body. The sense of contentment and sensual satisfaction that had oozed through him. Along with that delicious pique of anticipation.

  The picture in the papers had captured that moment when he’d looked around and caught Zoe with her camera raised to her face. He’d smiled. Not minding in that first instance that she was taking his picture. And then reality had hit like a bucket of cold water. He’d realised just how lax he’d been. How blinded by lust. To let someone get that close! Close enough to steal his very soul.

  The thing that burned and roiled in Maks’s gut most was that a lifetime of cynicism had let him down. He never would have suspected Zoe of having the kind of wherewithal to do something like this, and yet up until he’d met her he would have assumed anyone was capable of anything. No matter how innocent they looked or acted.

  He thought of all the little moments when he’d doubted she could really be that gauche, that innocent. Naive. No, not naive. Unjaded.

  For all he knew she could have faked her virginity—she’d told him beforehand, so of course that would have made him less likely to question if she really was or not. He knew what good actors women were; he’d seen his mother lie over and over again about her numerous affairs until she hadn’t cared any more and had freely admitted to them, to taunt his father.

  That was when he’d hit her.

  They’d divorced soon after that.

  But maybe even worse than all that was the fact that when he’d woken today, after weeks of sleepless nights and sexual frustration eating him up inside, he’d been seriously tempted to get in touch with Zoe again.

  And say what? He hadn’t even been sure, but he’d just wanted her. Badly.

  He could blame her for making a fool out of him all he wanted, but in the end he was the fool.

  Two months later

  Nikos clapped Maks on the back as they walked into the exclusive Marchetti Group hotel bar in Paris. ‘I should have posed naked years ago. I always wanted to be named Sexiest Man of the Year—and, let’s face it, I’m way sexier than you.’

  Maks gritted his jaw, which seemed to be in a permanent state of grit now. ‘I didn’t pose.’

  Nikos ignored him. ‘You could have gone into modelling, Maks. Wasted opportunity.’

  Maks opened his mouth to unleash another diatribe at Nikos, who was insufferably happy all the time now, but at that moment he saw his oldest brother, Sharif, taking a seat in a discreet corner booth. Sharif caught his eye and Maks nodded in his direction, steering Nikos towards the table.

  It was a rare occurrence that they were all in Paris at the same time, and an even rarer occurrence that they were meeting for a drink.

  When they were seated around the table with their drinks, Nikos addressed the elephant in the room. ‘This is serendipitous, indeed—all the brothers around a table that isn’t twelve foot long and full of other board members. Something to tell us, Sharif?’

  Their eldest brother looked as unreadable and unflappable as ever. ‘Can’t we at least pretend we’re a normal family?’ His tone was mocking.

  Maks let out a spontaneous snort of laughter. ‘Normal? What’s that? None of us can lay claim to knowing the first thing about what it’s like to be normal.’ That was followed by a far too familiar sense of hollowness in his gut.

  Nikos said, ‘Speak for yourselves. I’m a happily committed married father of nearly two children.’

  Nikos’s wife was pregnant with their second child. It had just been announced in the press.

  Sharif said darkly, ‘We’ll see how long that lasts.’

  Maks felt Nikos bristle beside him. He put a hand on his arm. ‘He’s just jealous.’

  Now Sharif made a snorting noise.

  They all took a sip of their drinks, tension bubbling under the surface, but it was tempered by something far more tenuous and delicate. New.

  Maks realised that, as much as they might be wary of each other, they respected each other at least.

  Then Sharif, sounding uncharacteristically un-mocking said, ‘Actually, I wanted to let you know that the group has seen the best returns in a decade. And that’s down to us all.’ He looked at Nikos. ‘The news of your marriage and fatherhood has stabilised nervy shareholders.’

  Nikos grinned, lifting his glass. ‘Happy to help in any small way I can.’

  Sharif went on, glancing from Nikos to Maks. ‘I know we all have our reasons for investing our time and effort into this company, and that none of us had to accept this inheritance. God knows, our father didn’t inspire loyalty in any of us, but I’m glad we’re in this together. I think we can take the Marchetti Group above and beyond anything our father ever imagined, and in doing so we can forge a new beginning.’

  Nikos frowned. ‘That almost sounds like you’ve got something planned, brother.’

  Sharif shrugged, but Maks noticed that he was watching them carefully. He said, ‘I’m just saying that there is no limit to what we can achieve now we’re united.’

  At that moment Nikos’s phone buzzed. It was on the table, and Maks saw an image of Maggie’s smiling face and their son Daniel’s, close to hers. Daniel was grinning cherubically, with the dark hair and eyes of his father.

  Nikos picked up the phone, looking at his brothers. ‘Are we done here, or do you want to sit and braid each other’s hair some more?’

  Sharif rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched. ‘No, go—play happy families. Enjoy it while it lasts.’

  Nikos was already up, answering his phone with a sexy growl. ‘Moro mou, you were meant to call me an hour ago...’

  Maks knew Maggie well enough by now to know that she’d probably be rolling her eyes at her husband, and a curious little ache formed in his chest at the thought of Nikos and his growing family unit. At his very obvious adoration for his wife. It was such an alien thing to witness.

  All of sudden Maks realised that in spite of everything he didn’t share Sharif’s cynicism. He had a sense that whatever Nikos and Maggie had, it was very real.

  Sharif’s phone rang. He answered it and went still. Th
en he said, ‘I’m making the most of a set of circumstances set down many years ago. It’ll be in all of our interests to take advantage of this opportunity. Let them know I’ll expect things to happen within the next couple of months.’

  Maks looked at Sharif when he had terminated his call. ‘That was cryptic. Anything you want to share?’

  Sharif fixed his dark gaze on Maks. For a moment Maks had the impression that Sharif wanted to share something but all he did say was, ‘It’s nothing that concerns you. Stay in touch, brother. And forewarn me next time you decide to pose naked for the papers. It was rather more of my little brother than I cared to see over my breakfast.’

  Sharif got up to leave and Maks rose too, gritting his jaw again. ‘I didn’t pose.’

  But Sharif was already striding out of the bar, with a couple of assistants who’d been hiding in a corner chasing after him.

  Feeling irrationally irritable and irritated, Maks moved to a stool at the bar, ordering a drink. He noticed a few women on their own. One met his eyes. She was beautiful. Willowy, blonde. Confident. Exactly the kind of woman whose clear invitation he would have accepted before. Except he felt nothing. No stirring of interest. Nada. Zilch.

  He turned to his drink. His libido only seemed to come to life at night now. When he woke sweaty and aching all over after explicitly sexual dreams featuring a treacherous liar and a thief—

  ‘Maks, you dark horse! Are congratulations in order?’

  Maks looked up and to his side, to see the smirking face of photographer Pierre Gardin. Another reminder of Zoe that he didn’t need. ‘What are you talking about, Pierre?’

  ‘Your girlfriend was working with me this week, and the rumour on set was that she’s pregnant. She kept disappearing to the bathroom, but she’s still the best assistant I’ve had in a long time. I hate to admit it, but I think she’s got real potential to—’

  Maks swivelled around on his stool. He could see Pierre’s mouth moving but the sound was muffled. He wanted to shake the man.

  He cut through whatever he was saying now. ‘What did you say?’

  Pierre stopped talking and cocked his head, eyes narrowing on Maks. ‘Actually, Zoe never mentioned you. Maybe you’re not together any more? Maybe the baby isn’t yours? I can’t keep up with these young people and their love affairs...’

  Baby. Pregnant.

  Maks was having a hard time getting his brain to absorb those words. It was so nonsensical.

  And then Maks had a mental image of Zoe in bed with another man and his brain went white-hot.

  ‘Where is she?’

  Pierre frowned. ‘I have no idea. She went home—back to London, presumably.’

  Maks’s brain was melting.

  Pregnant.

  Yet she hadn’t called him.

  Do you blame her? asked a caustic voice. The words he’d last thrown at her reverberated in his head: Get out. I never want to see you again.

  Was he even the father?

  ‘Maks, are you okay?’

  No. He wasn’t. For weeks now he’d been avoiding thinking about Zoe’s stricken face when she’d come to his townhouse that night, and her entreaty, ‘You know I’d never do something like this.’ Avoiding the niggling question as to why she would have come to his house if she’d really leaked the photos and been paid for them. Surely that wasn’t the action of a guilty person? Surely she would have just disappeared with the money?

  His conscience pricked. His team had offered to look deeper into the leak of the photos. To confirm beyond doubt that it had been Zoe. But Maks had stopped them, telling himself that he knew.

  But now he wasn’t so sure at all.

  * * *

  Within twenty-four hours Maks was standing outside Zoe’s door. Not used to waiting for much, if anything, he had to curb his impatience as she seemed to take an age to open it.

  When she did, and he saw the shock on her face and the way her eyes widened, he couldn’t stop the rush of blood and instant jolt of lust.

  He still wanted her.

  As if he hadn’t already known that.

  ‘Why didn’t you answer my texts or calls?’ His helpless reaction made his voice harsher than he’d intended.

  She pulled an over-large shapeless cardigan tighter around her. Maks looked down. He couldn’t see any visible signs of pregnancy, but she did look pale.

  ‘Maks. What are you doing here?’

  He moved into the apartment and shut the door behind him.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  She didn’t look so shocked now. She moved back. ‘You said you never wanted to see me again.’

  ‘That was before...’

  ‘Before what?’

  Suddenly Maks was reluctant to ask if she was pregnant, not ready to have that conversation yet, so instead he said, ‘Did you sell the photos, Zoe?’

  ‘I told you I didn’t, but you refused to listen to me.’

  ‘I’m listening now.’

  Zoe said nothing for a long moment, and then, ‘You’ve actually saved me a phone call. I was going to ring your office today.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I know who did sell the photos.’

  Maks frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘I was hacked by my ex—Dean Simpson. He works in IT and my passwords wouldn’t have been hard to crack. I upload all my pictures to an online storage facility. It’s a reflex—something I learnt to do long ago, to make sure I don’t lose work.’

  Maks refused to let go of his cynicism completely. He folded his arms. ‘Why would he hack you?’

  Zoe paced away to the window. She looked very slight under the voluminous cardigan and in her loose pyjama pants.

  She turned around. ‘He must have seen the pictures of us and acted out of spite and jealousy. I didn’t tell you everything about him—about why he...attacked me.’

  A sense of unease prickled over Maks’s skin. ‘Tell me now.’

  She faced him properly. Her scars stood out against her pale skin. ‘The reason we broke up was not just because he wanted an intimacy that I realised I didn’t want. It was because he wanted something else from me. He hadn’t looked me up in London just because he happened to be here—he’d targeted me.’

  ‘Why would he target you?’

  For a long moment she said nothing, and then, ‘Because he found out who I was and what that meant.’

  Maks frowned. ‘What are you talking about? Who are you?’

  Zoe started to pace back and forth. Maks tried not to let his gaze drop to where the vee of her T-shirt dipped low enough to reveal a hint of breast. Even that tiny hint of provocation had heated blood rushing to his groin.

  ‘Zoe,’ he snapped, in response to her effect on him. ‘I don’t have all day for this.’

  She looked at him, eyes huge. He saw her jaw set.

  ‘I didn’t ask you to come here. If you have more important things to be doing then by all means leave.’

  Maks forced his blood to cool. ‘Go on.’

  She took an audible breath. ‘I didn’t tell you who my parents were. My father was Stephen Collins, the photographer and author, and my mother was Simone Bryant, the heiress.’

  Maks shook his head as if that might clear it, trying to better assimilate this information. He knew her father’s name—anyone with even a passing interest in news and current affairs would have heard of Stephen Collins, the world-renowned photojournalist who’d covered some of the grisliest wars. And Simone Bryant had famously been the last remaining heiress to a vast fortune built from one of Ireland’s oldest breweries. Maks had a vague memory of a golden society couple...

  He focused on Zoe again. ‘You lied to me about who you are.’

  Zoe bristled visibly. ‘I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you exactly who I am. Collins is a common name...’

/>   ‘Your father won a Pulitzer prize for his non-fiction and then he became a bestselling crime author. I have his books on my shelves.’ He stopped, recalling how Zoe had been looking at the books on his shelves in London. She’d probably been laughing at him the whole time. Dio. ‘Why the hell would you hide who your parents were?’

  Maks looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. He felt ridiculously betrayed that Zoe had kept this information from him. But he could also see now where her talent came from. She had it in spades. It was evident in every picture hanging on the walls of this tiny flat.

  She just looked at him with those huge eyes.

  Maks frowned as something else sank in. ‘Your parents were wealthy.’

  Zoe nodded. ‘Very. When they died, my inheritance was kept in trust for me till I turned eighteen.’

  Maks looked around. ‘And yet you live like an impoverished student.’

  ‘Because I never wanted to touch that money.’

  He was taken aback at the stark tone in her voice. ‘Why not?’

  Zoe’s throat moved as if she was struggling to say the words. ‘Because it was blood money. Money that I never should have had. I got it at the expense of my parents’ deaths. My brother, who never got to live his life. Of course I wasn’t going to use it. I’ve given most of it away to charity.’

  Maks felt a pain near his chest as he thought of the fact that Zoe blamed herself for the accident. He pushed it down.

  ‘What has Dean Simpson got to do with any of this?’

  Zoe sighed. ‘When I was eighteen I left Ireland for London. I’d always wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps, and he started his photography career here. Also, there was nothing for me in Dublin. No family. No ties. Just grief and bittersweet memories.’

  Maks was still reeling from all this information and what it meant about the woman in front of him. If what she was saying was true.

  He said, ‘Go on.’

  She looked at him. ‘I never expected to see Dean Simpson again. When he came to London and tracked me down I realised I was lonely. I trusted him. We’d been in the same foster home. He was my first boyfriend. We had a shared past. What I didn’t know was that he’d somehow found out about my background, and my inheritance, and had come to pursue a relationship with a view to getting his hands on it. When Dean brought it up I was shocked. I told him what I’ve told you—that I wanted nothing to do with the money, that I’d given most of it away to charity—and that was when Dean got angry with me...when he realised I’d been getting rid of it.’